


a mission failure

by vaultboii



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Sexual Content, he just cant catch a break, im just tagging it 'cuz of certain implications, not so much, poor screamer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: the table won't be able to support the both of them once megatron's done





	a mission failure

**Author's Note:**

> a little venting drabble, to be honest. there ain't any happiness in this one, i'm afraid. =]
> 
> a fair warning, there's suggested non-con. it can be taken as consent and no consent. depends on who you ask. i hc that starscream in tfp was too emotional and mentally strung-up to be into very roughplay and shit like that, but who knows. it's all up to the viewer.

“You failed me.”

“I did not –!” The words are accusatory, almost resistive. They squawk, undignified as the Second in Command flailed for a proper response, a proper defiance. Talons scratch onto the table as the Lord leans in, enough that the gleam of sharpened dentae fills the Seeker’s vision. “There was miscommunication – my liege, if you would just bear to listen – ah!”

There won’t be listening for today. Claws go to seize one wrist as the Seeker backs away, more and more until his aft hits the end of the room and his Lord still won’t stop advancing. A darkened visor observes from the corner; bright red shifts next to the door, silent and sullen compared to norm. Their audience makes no complaint on his behalf. “My liege, my Lord, my Master, if you would care to listen –”

Servos are seized, and Knockout muffles a noise. It’s barely audible, faint under the scraping of metal as Megatron pulls the Seeker across the floor, and hauls him on the table. Trembles are felt, and the Lord pushes closer to his second commander, until red stares into red and Starscream’s vents are louder than the buzz of computers, scraping of thighs against the thin of Starscream’s legs.

“You failed me,” Megatron repeats again, harsher. Crueller. His victim plays to get away, arched, trying to scoot back as he wrestles with his trapped servos. Communication was halted by wrath; a growing tsunami that edges on the bit before collision, a wave of hot that was bubbling right before it exploded.

“My liege, my liege,” and the words come more desperate now, familiarity dawning on the jet as he struggles more fervently. They’re choked, nearly sobs of anguish; Vehicons guarding outside could swear they were half-shrieks of pained realization as the jet backs away useless, more and more. “My liege, my liege, my most _worthy_ and _merciful_ liege –”

And the kiss is more of a bite between them, as Megatron wraps a clawed servo around Starscream’s waist tight and tugs him in. It hurts, and hurts; and the Seeker makes it known that it hurts, for a muffled choke comes from that jet, and the darkened visor in the corner tilts a little higher at the artistry. Yet there is no shying from the lesser. Energon leaks down from his glossa as shaking ventilations come from Megatron’s victim. Blue begins to stain the table, again. “My liege,” Starscream breathes once he’s licked the energon from those punctured lips, “I did not fail.”

“Useless imbecile,” Megatron says, and grinds.

No gentle movements or kind words are shared from thence. It leaps straight to violence; a servo juts up from around Starscream, and talons sink into throat as Starscream tracks a fine, thin line in the warlord’s chest. Movements are memorized, adapted, translated into vehemence so frigid that when the second kiss comes, it becomes a show of dominance, a fight between a subordinate and his master.

And the audience says nothing, eyes glued to the two as Starscream continues to shudder, continues to submit under the warlord’s intent.


End file.
